When Death Came and Left Empty Handed
by Nessa Star
Summary: Silly little mortals. They think they can just give birth to a God and then go off and die? Little Harry finds a home in a strange place, but ends up happier than ever before. God!Harry. Crossover with Sandman. Disclaimer I don't own HP or Sandman.
1. Mortal God

Such a being was never meant to be born to mortals.

If any of the immortals had seen the child, they would have recognized it immediately as being inhuman. But none of them saw him- none of them knew that he had been created in their realm, born with the mortal's hair of black and eyes of lightest green. None of them, not even Death herself, not even the oldest of the Endless- Destiny- knew of the being's birth. The year the baby spent as a mortal was one so full of experiences and realizations that the little one couldn't be kept track of, in the end.

But the day Death was called down to the same house three times, she found him.

One of the mortals with the correct spell to call her had summoned her thrice that day. Once for a man she remembered fondly- James, a joker with a kind smile and a devious nature for pranks. He would be welcomed fondly into her realm. Another time for a woman she had felt for dearly- Lily, a just and beautiful soul who never sought conflict and only got angry when others were doing something horrible to another person. Her true love was already in the Sunless Lands. She would be happy there.

And the final time she came, she wasn't ready for what was going to happen.

She didn't know the baby. That made her stop short- made her pause. Surely she would be able to remember one born such a short time ago? She recalled everyone who would one day die. Everyone. But this didn't fit together- she had never seen the baby before. Ever.

Confused and puzzled, she reached down, still forced by the contract of the spell to take the child's life- but as soon as she set a hand on the babe's shoulder to take him away, a sizzling, brutal flame shot through her arms, numbing them and forcing her away in shock. Desperately grasping for the life that she had been unable to take, she felt her body move towards the first being she felt alive- and she reached in and took all she could. When she opened her eyes, she was stunned and completely at a loss for what had happened.

Her summoner was dead on the floor, his body crumbling. The baby was alive, but his head was covered in blood. And strangest of all, the soul of the mortal who had called her had not met her on the side she resided on.

The day could not have been any stranger. Death slunk back into the shadows of the Sunless Lands, her realm, trying to calm down and reason out what had just happened.

The story traveled quickly. For the first time in the history of history, Death had been unable to take away life. Those that could do so approached the Endless seeking answers while those that couldn't fumbled desperately around in the dark for those that did.

What those that did found out was disturbing to say the least.

The mystery was not whether or not Death was loosing her touch- indeed, she was as good at her job as ever. It was the lack of a story behind the child she had tried to take away that was the stunning part. For each answered question on the baby, another query arose. Who was he? _What_ was he? Why was he there? He had no lines written in the book of Destiny, no life for Death to take away, no record of ever being caught in Dream's world, no point of creation for Destruction to toy with… no, not even the dislike on the flip side to the coin of Desire, nor any hope for Despair to take away. Even Delirium was left without any control of the child, as one would need lucidity for any form of Delirium to take root in their mind. As far as any of the Endless knew, not a single one of them had any hold in this young one's existence, and that… was quite alarming, in fact.

The day they decided to search for the boy was the day when one of their number vanished.

Did it have a connection? This was unprecedented- never before had one of their number simply gone missing like that. Despite the fact that Dream had never been as close as the rest of them, that he had been their quietly brooding brother, he wouldn't have gone so long without contacting them.

Never would they have realized that the duo of their attentions would soon fall right back into their laps, nor could even the great Destiny, lord of past and future, have guessed what would come in their wake...


	2. Dream's Hope

A simple irony, how ever you looked at it. 

Some mortals that knew of the Sandman said that he could not dream. Others said that he was in a constant state of sleep, and all the universe was simply a part of the twisted reality within his endless unconsious mental processes. Whichever one it was, neither was very appealing at that moment.

Dream wanted escape. He didn't care how he got it- be it that he was allowed to go free, to return to his world and reside over it once more, or some other aspect of the word escape did not matter. Be it physical escape, release from the prison of the mortal plane he was confined within, the soft sweet touch of his sister Death, or even- ironic though it was to wish for such a thing- the gentle lull of sleep to wash over him and embrace him as it always did, like a yearning for an ancient friend from ages long since forgotten by even the oldest of stars.

But no. Here he was, imprisoned and confined and captured and any other word that might be drudged up from the most abstract of literature that meant the exact same thing- that he, the Lord of Dreams, had been stripped of everything he held dear, thrown naked and confused into a capturing and binding circle, and had been held hostage there ever since.

Oh, the mortals would _pay_ for this. They had deigned to use words of compromise and threat against _him?_ Him, the Master of Waking and Sleeping? The embodiment of Dreams and Nightmares? Oh, they would _pay_ for this…

The mortals outside his prison spoke to one another, their souls whispering secrets that their mouths would never say out loud. Laughing and cadjoling, loud and soft, the sounds were like a badly tuned violin being played by fingers too short and too stiff for the work they had been used for.

He rarely ever listened for the meanings anymore. The tones of the words were enough to let him stay sane, if only for a little while longer.

But today, a single word caught his attention, drawing him out of the musings of his capture for a few moments.

The word was "wizard".

Shaking his head, the man who hadn't spoken the first time sighed, answering whatever the other guard had said with a roll of his eyes.

"They just never get tired of grabbin' whatever kids they can off the street and makin' em into magic-folk, do they? How old's this one, then?"

"Looked like he was round' about five, maybe six if he's just short. Definitely different from the others, though."

"Yeah? How'd ya figure?" the first guard scoffed, looking away.

"They got him all decked out in the fancy dress and everything." He flicked on a lighter, holding up a cigarette to his cracked lips. A halo of smoke soon hovered around his head like an angel of the dark, and Dream closed his eyes, willing the image away. Such a thought was not one that he needed in a moment like this.

A new child? Perhaps he could trick the mortal into setting him free. He hoped, at least, and hope was all he had at that point.

"That's just stupid." The other one argued. "I thought that the fancy dress was only for the big guys- you know, the ones that already knew how to turn people into frogs and shit like that. Why've they got him in it?"

"How the hell should I know?" he argued, angrilly. "Just get straightened up before they come down. You want the boss to see you looking like that?" the other guard shrugged.

"…hey, no different from usual, is it? Let them see me if they want to. All we have to do down here is get high and stay awake, after all…"

Dream slunk back, closing his eyes. Finally. This might be his chance, in the end. After five years of containment and confinement, he might- at last- get his chance to escape.

And when he did, no power in heaven or in hell would be able to stop him from taking his revenge on that mortal- the one who deigned to try the impossible. To capture a Dream itself…


End file.
